For the love of George
by Leahna
Summary: a quick fic please R


The first rays of early morning sun crept through the open window, stole over the white-washed casement, across the highly polished wooden floor, and up the expensive lace bedspread to shine directly onto the closed eyelids of the large bed's lone occupant. She fought waking; her dreams being preferable to reality. As hard as she tried, her dream dimmed and the arms of her dream lover faded. She was awake and alone.  
  
Jessie Challenger turned her face into her absent husband's long unused pillow, and cried.  
  
***  
  
Putting the finishing touches on her hair, Jessie noticed a little more grey than she remembered. She sighed heavily, then headed down to the dining room. Everything, even walking down these stairs seemed such a chore lately and it got harder every day. More and more often, she wondered why she even bothered getting out of bed.  
  
Today promised to be her worst day yet.  
  
She sat at the beautifully appointed place setting. One plate looked so lonely there at the large table. The magnificent arrangement of tea roses, the dark red placemat, the white napkin folded to resemble a swan, and the silver tray holding the morning mail just seemed to point fingers at the solitary diner.  
  
A maid brought Jessie's plate, and set it before her. It seemed so silly and even frivolous to keep such a large house and so many servants for just herself, but to change it now would mean acquiescing to the widely held opinion that George Challenger was not returning. That was something she would never believe -- never.  
  
The first six months, even the first year he was gone hadn't surprised her. George's single minded pursuit of science often caused him to forget about time -- and everything else when he was on one of his many excursions. However, when the second year ended, and now the third, she was finding it harder to fight the fears assailing her.  
  
"Ma'am?" a quiet voice interrupted her thoughts.  
  
Jessie looked up at Kate's worried face. Kate had been with her since long before her marriage to George. They were friends, at least as close to being friends as the difference in their classes would allow.  
  
"You have to eat something, Ma'am," the small, grey-haired maid urged.  
  
A savoury aroma wafted from the kidneys, stewed tomatoes, coddled eggs, toast and marmalade. The steaming foods didn't tempt her. Everything Jessie ate lately tasted the same: like chalk. She was about to push the plate aside when Kate's hand lightly touched her forearm.  
  
The elderly maid chided, "We can not have you wasted away to mere bones when the professor returns, can we?" Kate was smiling, but sincere. She was the only one who shared Jessie's conviction that Professor Challenger would return. She clasped her loyal maid's hand briefly in thanks, then dutifully ate several bites of the carefully prepared food, tasting none of it.  
  
***  
  
The light fragrance of well tended roses wafted around her as she wandered morosely through her garden. Grey skies threatened rain, but at present, the weather was pleasant'  
  
Now, more than ever before she wished that she and George had had a child. It was her own fault, she admitted that, but it was also her greatest regret. Her thoughts flew back to that awful day; back to their first real fight; back to the foolish girl so recently wed.  
  
She was lonely. Being married to George Challenger meant being alone most of the time. He was constantly barricaded either in his study or his laboratory, or worse yet, off on some wild adventure.  
  
She remembered every detail of that stupid night and her miserably failed attempt at manipulating her husband.  
  
She watched as George packed for his latest excursion. He planned to be gone three months.  
  
"Hand me those shirts." Dutifully, Jessie picked up the carefully folded stack and brought it to him. He packed them between his shaving kit and his microscope, then turned to his lovely wife. "It won't be that long," he took her small hands in his, and drew her close, "I'll be back and we can start thinking about a family."  
  
She took a half-step back and solemnly met his eyes, "I have been thinking about that."  
  
His bright, blue eyes narrowed questioningly.  
  
"I wonder if it is such a good idea to have children when the father would be away so often."  
  
"Jessie," a cold edge crept into his voice, "this is what I do. You've always known that."  
  
"Oh, I know, George," she hastily assured him, "and I am not complaining. I am just questioning the wisdom of...."  
  
"Are you saying you don't want children?" his voice was hard, his eyes icy.  
  
She wanted to tell him no. To assure him that she wanted children -- his children; but his imperious attitude angered her, so she replied, "That might be the wisest course of action."  
  
"Fine," he turned away and slammed his satchel shut. Without another word, or so much as a glance at his wife, George Challenger left the room. When she heard the front door close, she burst into tears.  
  
Four months later, when he returned, their fight was forgotten. They never broached the subject of children again.  
  
The scent of roses seemed suddenly cloying. She ducked back into the house escaping both the heavy fragrance and the heavier memories.  
  
***  
  
Promptly at four o'clock that afternoon, the three representatives of the London Zoological Society were shown into the study where Jessie Challenger awaited. She had decided to meet with them here, as this was the room where she felt closest to her husband. She needed all the strength she could muster for this meeting. She'd seated herself behind George's imposing, mahogany desk.  
  
"Mrs. Challenger," the elderly man standing in the middle stepped forward and spoke first, "It has been too long since you have attended our meetings."  
  
"Mr. Bergen," she replied, "Your meetings only interest me when my husband is speaking."  
  
The balding man cleared his throat and turned to introduce his younger companions. "I believe you have met Lord Eversly, and this is Dr. William Chantlor," he indicated each in turn. "We have come to...."  
  
"I know why you are here, and my answer is no."  
  
The grey-haired man was taken aback by the vehemous negative response. He hadn't expected such strength from the quiet woman. She had always been so mild, even submissive. This acquisition was not going to be as easy as he had first assumed.  
  
"Your husband was a brilliant man."  
  
"Yes, he is," she stressed the present tense.  
  
"Um, yes," he stammered. Her simple statement flustered him. "Well, we ... uh, the society would like to reccognise his scientific contributions. A large plaque with his name and accomplishments...."  
  
"In exchange for?" the seemingly inflappable woman interrupted.  
  
Bergen took a deep breath and dove in saying, "We would appreciate you donation of Professor Challenger's laboratory equipment."  
  
"I do not believe Professor Challenger would appreciate that," she replied. "When he returns home, he will expect his laboratory to be in the same condition it was when he left."  
  
"Mrs. Challenger," Chantlor attempted to reach her logically, "you need to face the fact that he is not coming back"  
  
"Oh, he will be back, and you'll see that his theory was right all along."  
  
Bergen spoke again, "The expedition was supposed to last three months .... it has been three years."  
  
"George's expeditions are always supposed to be three months," she answered quietly, "they never are."  
  
"Ma'am," Lord Eversly interrupted, "I am sorry, but you must accept that your husband is dead."  
  
Jessie stood indignantly, "Gentlemen, this interview is over." As she crossed the room's threshold, she felt suddenly dizzy. The room began to spin, and everything went dark.  
  
***  
  
Jessie awoke to find herself in a laboratory. It was similar to her husband's lab, but at the same time very different. She stood at the foot of a rustic cot. On the pillow was a familiar and very dear face.  
  
Crystal blue eyes opened, and in surprised awe, George Challenger asked, "Jessie?"  
  
The situation was so odd and unreal, that the only answer she could give was, "Hello, George."  
  
"However did you get here?" He asked in wonderment.  
  
She only wished she had an answer to that question. She must somehow be in South America, in George's lost world, but how could she have gotten here? Is this real, or am I dreaming? It must somehow be the tie between them. Quietly, she responded, "I'm your wife, George, you seem to have forgotten that."  
  
"This is impossible," the scientist said disbelievingly.  
  
The whole thing was impossible. As she continued to converse with her husband, Jessie knew this had to be a dream, a delusion, but when she stroked his short, red beard it felt so very real.  
  
"I'll never leave you like this again," he declared, "Never."  
  
And when he touched her cheek, Jessie closed her eyes and leaned against it. For the moment it didn't matter if it was real.  
  
***  
  
Kate jumped up in relief when her mistress began to stir.  
  
"Kate?" Jessie asked, momentarily confused.  
  
"Oh, Miss Jessie, Ma'am," the older woman cried, "I was so worried." She rearranged the coverlet and explained, "You passed out cold! The doctor was here. He said it is exhaustion. You must take better care of yourself!"  
  
Jessie sat up and looked around realising that she was in her room, in her own bed. A sharp, painful stab of loss shot through her.  
  
"Ma'am, what is it?"  
  
A single tear escaped and crept slowly down her cheek as Jessie answered, "I was there, with George."  
  
Not knowing what to say, Kate just smiled.  
  
"I am not going crazy, Kate," Jessie insisted. "It was real. I was there in the Amazon. I know it sounds crazy, but I really was there." She grabbed the maid's rough hand, "we've been right all along. He is alive."  
  
Not wanting to risk an answer, Kate smiled, squeezed her dear mistress' hand, and said, "I'm sure he will be home soon." Gently, she pushed Jessie back onto the pillows. "You sleep now, and tell me all about it in the morning."  
  
Jessie relaxed as her maid once again straightened the covers. She was tired and her eyes closed of their own accord. She floated into the darkness of sleep.  
  
Suddenly, she was awake and once again looking down on her beloved husband. There were other people in the room, but she hardly noticed them. He looked at each of them and smiled. When his eyes met those of his wife, he beamed.  
  
"I'll always love you, George," she assured him. Then she pleaded, "come back to me."  
  
"I will, Jess," he answered in a weak, but loving voice, "I promise."  
  
Laying in her bed, clutching her husband's pillow, Jessie smiled.  
  
end. 


End file.
